


Jreg one-shot series by Goebbels

by Veloce74



Category: Jreg, The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, each chapter is for its own seperate ship, everything from fluff to degeneracy, not great but they're short and to the point, sometimes they reference each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22515856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veloce74/pseuds/Veloce74
Summary: Doing my part for the anti-centrist propagandaSuggestions and prompts are welcome, the angstier the betterI will not stop until daddy makes me
Relationships: Ancap/Commie, Ancap/Hoppean, Homofash/Anmon, Left Unity, Libunity, Nazi/Conservative, Right unity
Comments: 55
Kudos: 269





	1. Ancap/Authright

  
If ancap was being honest with himself, he was slightly jealous of commies obsession with ancom. Maybe it was the coke or the disappointment of a lucrative business deal that fell apart recently because the damn FBI busted in, or the fact that no one really liked him, but in his bitter mood he couldn’t stop going over all the wonderful ways he’d exploit the nazi if he’d ever let him. He really felt that he could be the Swiss bank to his Third Reich.  
  
Just at that thought nazi waltzed into his room, ‘’Commie is sulking again about that degenerate and won’t play Call of Duty. Do you want to-‘’ seeing ancap slouched over a white powdered table, in some sort of deep degenerate thought, told him ‘’no’’.  
  
‘’Hey, yesss, um, I mean, I’m not really in the mood-‘’ ancap trailed off, a bit dazed at the sudden entrance. It was surreal how every time he thought of the Devil, he would show up.  
  
‘Nazi shook his head in anger, ‘’I’m surrounded by pussies.’’ He was about to close the door when the sad state that ancap was in really hit him. It would probably be just as fun to torment him a little as it would be to hear some russian kids screaming over mic. ‘’Why are you snivelling? Did one of your child wives run away?’’  
  
‘’The FBI stole them,’’ ancap replied gravely. He was trying to measure how long he could stare at the nazi before he’d notice, and he’d have to divert his gaze to the gold leafed painting of Ayn Rand hanging on the wall beside the doorway.  
  
The ethnical nationalist stared dead center at the fidgeting man before him. It was painfully obvious that he was desperate for any kind of human attention and would probably beg him to stay if pushed. He slowly walked over to ancap and stood beside him, placing one hand on his shoulder in mock sympathy.  
  
‘’Sometimes I think that even that degenerate was less pathetic than you. Pull yourself together if you want to be called an extremist.’’ He tightened his grip to a painful level and leaned down besides his ear, ‘’Sometimes… I think that I should gas you for your uselessness. Do you know why I keep you around? Because your incompetence is amusing.’’  
  
Ancap had gone dead still as soon as nazi began to move. One part of his mind saw the words and actions for the threat and mockery that they were, but the other part was so glad to have his right-wing roommate take an interest in him. He desperately wished to upkeep that interest.  
  
‘’You’re right, my ideology is completely self-contradictory, it has no morals, no standards,’’ he almost added no taboos. The nazi kept tightening his grip, enough to leave bruises. Ancap’s pulse had picked up, the next words sounding expectant, almost strained, ‘’I’d be so grateful if you could show me the error of my ways.’’  
  
Naturally, the plain desire radiating off the man was not lost on the nazi. He was adept at hunting faggots all over Europe and his ranks had always been squeaky clean of them. Post 1934 at least. But he couldn’t help himself enjoying the submissiveness. The Fuhrer would forgive him, just this once, he had killed so many centrists lately after all. Yes, he deserved some respite and light refreshments now.  
  
With complete ease, before either of them could blink, the nazi had pulled out his revolver and pressed the end of the barrel to the ancaps jawline. It had a lovely sharpness. How did he stay so fit with all the mcdonalds?  
  
Tracing the end of the gun slowly across the ancap’s cheek, he said deceptively softly, ‘’Well for one, you should learn to obey authority. Get on your knees.’’ Wasting no time, the free marketeer obediently got down from the chair, kneeled and looked up at the uniformed man. He parted his lips slightly, careful not to make it too obvious. The thought of imminent death had perked him up more than the coke had.  
  
The nationalist pushed the silver barrel in slowly, then without warning, pulled it out again and thrust back in, picking up pace. The metal was soon coated with saliva, and ancaps breath came in hitches, the gun was almost choking him. The more he struggled for breath the more the nationalist seemed to enjoy it.  
  
Nazi pulled the gun out completely, ancap instinctively leaning after it in wanton need. Wiping it on the probably ridiculously overpriced suit that ancap was wearing, he put it back in its holster with care and turned to leave. As turned on and raging hard as he was, there was no real reason for ancap to know that.  
  
‘’Poor performance, as always. I’ll go see if commie has stopped sulking,’’ he said dismissively, not even bothering to look back. He swiftly left the room, and as the doors closed, he heard actual sobbing. Yes, this was certainly better than any Russian kids he had come across.  



	2. Left unity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I can't write the left for shit, but they're popular so I had to try for those sweet sweet kudos

.  
Ancom got up from the chair, stretching awkwardly to try to regain some life in quei’s muscles, after spending who knows how long at the computer. At first an attempt was made to study basic economics. It soon devolved into debating why it should be perfectly legal to have a person’s race classified by their spiritual kin. The other anime avatar guy did not seem convinced.  
  
Quei opened the door and walked quietly to the kitchen, to steal some more delicious gluten free bread. Ancom was pretty sure that the wrong-anarchist wasn’t at home, probably trying to convince people somewhere that if all environmental regulation was repealed, the free market would take care of climate change before resource wars. Quei stopped in the living room to greet Tankie, who appeared to be 2 vodka bottles deep (that was alright, it was only midday, no cause for worry) into replaying Metro 2033 for the umpteenth time.  
  
‘’Hey, Tankie, if everyone’s a happy productive citizen in communist utopia, how come you’re always drinking?’’ Quei teased, watching as some neo-nazi group’s heads were blown left and right.  
  
Communist didn’t bother to pause, ‘’Whilst capitalism exists, true communism can never be achieved. And it’s a true proletariat drink, unlike capitalist liquors that can be called thus and thus only if they’re produced in that and that region of France.’’  
  
‘’Yeah, it’s pretty discriminatory against disinfringed groups who feel less than, if they can’t afford them,’’ Ancom plopped down on the couch next to Tankie, who sighed and finally paused, ‘’What is it Anarkitty? I’m in the middle of the best part.’’  
  
The bread now quite forgotten, quei simply stated, ‘’I’m bored. Feels like everyday there’s just planning and more planning and we’re barely getting any closer to killing the centrists.’’  
  
Commie chuckled, ‘’Have you ever actually been in an all out war, Anarkitty? It’s not like one of your mob fights. You could get seriously hurt.’’ The unspoken line being that he doesn’t like the thought of that.  
  
‘’They’re centrists, easy to smash,’’ Ancom’s fingers unconsciously flexed for the ever reliable baseball bat, that was currently in quei’s room. ‘’Why should you care? You’d probably try to kill all the anarchists immediately after the revolution.’’  
  
Quei had intended it as a joke and waited a moment in silence for Tankie to laugh or shoot something back about how it would be so easy it wouldn’t even require any planning. Instead, a shadow of guilt passed across the man’s face, and Commie’s expression contorted between hurt and shame. It was an odd grimace of facial muscles being unable to decide amongst themselves, but then that too passed, and he simply took another swig of the ever reliable white liquor and returned to playing the game.  
  
Ancom wasn’t sure what to think, it’s not like quei had lied, it would be the most probable turn of events. Quei reached out to touch Tankie’s arm, ‘’Hey man, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re still my favourite roommate.’’  
  
‘’You mean between the psycho fascist and a man who is two steps away from feudalism?’’ he was being sarcastic of course, and refused to meet quei’s eyes, despite it becoming harder and harder to focus on the game.  
  
‘’Well you’re not denying it. I’m sorry for what I said anyways,’’ Ancom somehow felt guiltier than quei should have, as quei got up and resumed the quest for bread. Quei had always felt a bond of empathy between the two communists, but it seemed particularly taut at this moment.  
  
Commie shot up, not even caring anymore if Artyom died or not, ‘’Ancom, wait, I…’’ he felt indecisive about what to say next. Quei clearly believed in what quei had said, which was close to the truth, but the truth was often a murky pool.  
  
‘’I wouldn’t do that, not immediately. There’s always capitalist pigs to be killed, and I’d find a way for us to work together.’’  
  
Quei wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Commie seemed genuine, but would he even mourn quei’s death? But for now, that clear sincerity in the man’s voice was like a warm blanket wrapping around Ancom. Quei approached, and looked at Commie’s red flushed cheeks, eyes burning with the fire of the proletariat, the ever present ushanka.  
  
Was he being honest with himself? Admittedly, he wasn’t sure. But for now, the thought of Ancom leaving, just like that, was too much to bear. He grabbed Ancom by the scruff of quei’s neck, and pulled quei into a passionate kiss, one that tasted equally of vodka, Xanax and want.  
  
When they both pulled back, out of breath, no admissions of love were passed between them. It would be too much, too fake, and break the sweet, airy illusion. But they both felt much better and parted with a lighter step. Or rather, Commie slouched back into the couch and Ancom stalked towards the kitchen again.


	3. Anmon/Homofash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had great fun with these wacky degenerates

  
‘’When you said roleplay, I didn’t think you’d go…’’ H-fascist made a little gesture around him, ‘’All out.’’ They were in a basement room of Anmon’s house. The Feudalist would call it a castle no doubt, but it’s size barely made it a hunting lodge.  
  
Anmon was sitting on a carved wooden chair that, although historic, was in a bad shape. He had draped a large, unsewn piece of purple velvet across the back. On the walls were matching vintage gilt portrait frames, that hosted pictures of his family. The faded gold contrasted sharply with the selfies. The female ones seemed to have been chosen from ah, particularly inviting Instagram photos.  
  
The anarchist king wasn’t sure if Homo-nationalist was being sarcastic and frankly, he didn’t care. ‘’Silence, vassal! I repeat, what has brought you here?’’  
  
The man opposite him rolled his eyes and sighed playfully, before bowing overly theatrically and turning up drama to the max, ‘’My liege, I have come here today to beg for your mercy and to ask, unworthy as I am, for your forgiveness for my crimes…’’  
  
He trailed off, trying to remember the next line, ‘’What were my crimes again?’’ He asked in a hushed voice. ‘’You tried to stage a violent revolution, which I heroically stopped,’’ Anmon whispered back, obviously excited but trying to remain serious.  
  
H-fascist cleared his voice and resumed, ‘’For my crimes in bringing about a revolution that you so heroically, bravely, and erotically stopped.’’ He giggled before falling to his knees, ‘’Will you ever forgive me, your majesty?’’  
  
‘’My favour shall not come again easily, you treacherous cur! You will have to work in earnest to regain it,’’ now it was Anmon’s turn to fall short of words, for somehow, rather inexplicably, the Fascist’s shirt was much looser now and his glistening white skin with just a hint of chest hair was open to see.  
  
‘’Yes, your majesty, I am a filthy, treacherous,’ with two quick, leaping steps H-fascist had bounded over to the throne and now kneeled by the king’s knees.  
  
‘’Degenerate,’’ Monarchist helpfully added, his breath hitching as the others attention was now much more focused on his belt buckle, which was becoming undone.  
  
The bdsm Supremacist hummed in agreement as he slid out an already painfully erect cock, and wetting his lips, wasted no time in taking it up to the hilt. Anmon fell back in the chair, letting out a higher pitched moan than he intended, which just seemed to drive the other on. They often competed on who could drag out the most embarrassing sounds from the other.  
  
The Anarchist gently petted the other’s hair, only absentmindedly noting down it’s perfect silkiness. He suddenly pulled at it sharply and held the Fascist down while he climaxed, only remembering to let go when the other began to squirm below him.  
  
H-fascist fell back choking, spitting out drops of spit and warm cum. His cheeks had a bluish tone and he looked up at Anmon in shock, who readjusted himself and looked down upon the fascist dispassionately. Before he could blink, ‘’his majesty’’ had set down upon him, squeezing the bit of breath he had managed to regain from his lungs.  
  
‘’You like that, don’t you, you filthy fag,’’ Anmon cooed softly, at once cold and loving. He had unfastened the other’s military trousers and began stroking roughly, increasing pace as the Fascist’s face went through different shades of blue, then purple.  
  
Homo nationalist was intermittingly squirming, choking, and moaning. Not a thing could be made out from whatever words he tried to utter, but they certainly didn’t sound discouraging. He cummed in the other’s hand and Anmon just as suddenly as he had fallen upon him let him go, falling back to the floor short of breath from the excitement.  
  
In manner rather unbefitting of royalty, he licked off the salty cum from his hand, and H-fash grinned wickedly at him, ‘’If we’re having this much fun, I can’t imagine what the extremists are up to.’’


	4. Libunity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needy Ancom/Asshole Ancap is my jam  
> Also, libunity>leftunity

  
Ancom slumped through the house, looking for something to occupy his time with. Commie had gone to some meeting without taking him along and the disappointment of that prevented quei from finding anything else to do. Quei might have opted for annoying the Nazi, but he had disappeared too. Probably for the best.  
  
The only one home besides quem was sprawled on the couch, indifferently scrolling through something on his laptop. Probably looking for cheap real estate again that he’d later rent out at exorbitant prices. Bloody landlords, they were only slightly less bad than the fascists. On second thought, they should be locked in their own estates till they starve.  
  
Ancom sat down on the armrest at one end of the couch, and after a moment’s silence where neither acknowledged the other, began his usual admonishment, ‘’How can you suck out people’s livelihood like some vampire?’’  
  
‘Vampires don’t have to put in this kind of effort. I must spend hours scrolling till I find anything worthwhile, then call the owner to arrange the deal. And so often I am forced to listen to sob stories about how they’re forced to give up their family home because their lousy kid’s got cancer,’’ Ancap sighed theatrically, shaking his head for emphasis.  
  
‘’Anyways, why are you here? I thought you and commie had run off to somewhere,’’ Ancap shuffled a little to sit up straighter. He was surprised to see that without intending to, he had touched a nerve, as Ancom looked away and didn’t reply immediately.  
  
After a moment’s hesitation, quei shrugged, ‘’It’s more of an exclusive event, I guess. You know, I bashed 5 nazis last week. 4 are in wheelchairs now. But I feel like commie still doesn’t respect me.’’  
  
‘’What did you expect from a statist,’’ Ancap was about to go back to figuring out how he might increase the crime rate in the neighbourhood to bring down prices even further, when he felt a stab of… well, not empathy, but maybe some kind of bond with his fellow anarchist. He had to at least try to cheer quei up.  
  
He leaned forward and lowered his voice conspiratorially, ‘’The state will never appreciate individual liberty, cunning and prowess. They will never appreciate the beauty of chaos,’’ Ancap grinned widely, sunglasses glinting as he coked his head. ‘’Indeed, why should you mourn the absence of state?’’  
  
Ancom swallowed, not quite sure what to think anymore.  
  
‘’Surely, you’re not… shifting closer to the horizontal axis… like some filthy centrist,’’ Ancap leaned in closer, voice grave now and filled with faux concern. Quei could smell the overpriced cologne and a faint trace of gunpowder.  
  
‘’You’re not one to talk. I know you’re been consorting with that fucking nazi,’’ Quei responded likewise with an accusation, but it lacked any real anger. Instead, Ancom was much more occupied with the capitalist invading ques personal space.  
  
Why was quei enjoying this? The man was a greedy trashbag. His words shouldn’t be so persuasive, his voice so seductive, and that fucking smirk so suggestive. Before quei could enumerate on those many flaws, Ancap grabbed at the hem of ques hoodie and not so much pulled as yanked his fellow anarchist forwards for a long and intense kiss. 

  
Neither pretended at any modesty as they explored each other’s mouths with abandon. They fell back into the couch and Ancap flipped the other over, pinning quei underneath him. He set his sunglasses on the coffee table and then pulled off Ancom’s hoodie, flinging it to one corner of the room. The corner was probably cleaner than it anyways.  
  
‘’You know, if you just read an economics book,’ Ancap set aside his jacket, ‘’anything about competition and investment,’’ he tugged off ques pants, ‘’socialism wouldn’t exist.’’  
  
‘You’d probably like to fuck Rand's corpse,’’ Ancom scoffed, undoing the belt buckle on his pants and pulling them down with the briefs. Quei had a distant feeling of pre-guilt, for himself and for tankie, but that had never deterred quei before in life and it certainly wouldn’t now.  
  
‘’What a filthy mind you’ve got,’’ Ancap chuckled. Without warning, he grabbed ques cock and squeezed harshly, pleased with the pained whimper it drew. ‘’Does the communist enjoy it? Do you whisper dirty little things to him?’’ He began to half stroke, half pull, intending for the most painful handjob possible. ‘’Is he too embarrassed to be seen in public with his slut?’’ Ancap practically drawled the last word, and it sounded much more like a compliment than an insult.  
  
Finding time between the moans and the whimpers, Ancom shot back, ‘’Is the Nazi ignoring you again? Is that why you’re jeeelo-ahhh!’’ quei felt himself too close for any more witty retorts. Just before that could commence however, Ancap drew back, scowling like he’d been physically slapped.  
  
‘’If that’s how you’re going to be,’’ he sighed, moving to retrieve his shades. Ancom rolled ques eyes and leaned in to suck his dick, stopping any thought Ancap might have had about leaving.


	5. Authleft/Libright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mean Ancap, sub Commie, and my best attempt at a sex scene. What more could you ask for?

Ancap had been on a roll all week. The chaos created by corona virus was the perfect soil for his shady business dealings in snake oils and other famed miracle cures to thrive. It was also demanding, to constantly be monitoring the situation (and avoiding getting persecuted), so when he saw Communist slumped against the kitchen counter, staring into nothing, brooding of all things and blocking Ancap’s access to the coffee machine, he got unreasonably annoyed.

He approached the red clad man, and tried to non verbally indicate that he should move aside, but Authleft ignored him completely.

‘’Commie, first of all, I don’t care that you and Ancom got into a fight again. The whole house heard it. And although it makes Nazi happy to hear you two at each other’s throats, it gives me a headache. So move, now, so I can at least get a cup of coffee,’’ Ancap demanded.

The Marxist slid 4 inches to the left, staring daggers at Libright, trying to somehow discharge his negative energy on the other.

Ancap ignored him and went about setting the machine to work. He sighed, thinking of the 30 seconds of awkward waiting to come.

‘’What is it, Kulak? Tired of exploiting 3rd world countries?’’ The Communist scoffed, finally breaking his stare.

‘’Second world, actually. And it is, but in the evening I have the satisfaction of a hard day’s work,’’ Ancap smirked, rolling the last three words with sarcastic relish.

Commie moved 2 inches to the right, invading Libright’s personal space, ‘’You don’t even know what that means. You have the weak, soft hands of the bourgeoisie.’’

The machine made a soft ‘’ding’’ as it finished pouring, but there were hotter issues for Ancap to attend to. He attempted to stare down the Lenin fanboy, but it was difficult, as Commie was taller than him and looked just about ready to punch him in the face.

‘’All you’re good at is endless bureaucracy and ordering firing squads, you’re no more a ‘’man of the proletariat’’ than me,’’ Ancap shot back acidly, voice low even as fear swelled in his gut.

Commie leaned in, intending to reply with something even more scolding, or perhaps to simply grab the steaming mug and throw it in the smug face before him, but before he’d decided Ancap grabbed him by the lapels of his red blazer and in one swift motion, had the giant squeezed between him and the countertop.

Libright blinked in surprise, realizing what he’d done. The Communist looked equally shocked. The air around them had become charged with tense anticipation.

‘’What now, Kulak?’’ Authleft taunted, unable to keep his voice from hitching.

In a moment, Ancap had regained his usual swagger. The sight before him of a socialist asking him, inviting to tread on the proletariat, was incredibly arousing. 

The Randian fanboy grinned and pressed even closer to the Marxist, placing one leg against the other’s crotch, to find him predictably hard. The snake leaned in as if for a kiss, then pivoted to give a him a painful hickey instead, making Commie grunt in annoyance and arousal.

He leaned back to inspect the swelled purple flesh, only to have Commie grab him by the collar and pull him back for a harsh kiss.

‘’Go to your room,’’ Libright commanded in his best stern, fatherly voice, when they broke apart for breath. Commie complied immediately, scurrying like an eager puppy, his master following close at his heels.

Ancap locked the bedroom door behind him. They set upon one another, clothes getting strewn left and right. The Marxist dragged his worst enemy towards his neat bead, and they fell into it, Ancap landing heavily atop him.  
The right-anarchist used Commie’s leather belt to tie his hands above him, ‘’Tighter,’’ the man demanded impatiently, so Ancap pulled it by another three holes, making the leather dig into the flesh, leaving red lines on the sides.

‘’Don’t bother with preparation,’’ Commie said dismissively, his fully erect cock betraying the urgency he felt.

Ancap rolled his eyes, ‘’At least let me get some lube.’’ He rummaged through the only drawer at the bedside table and found a rather sizeable bottle of vaseline. 

Considering Commie’s eight inch member, and the fact that he would never be so rough with his Anarkitty, it made sense. After having oiled up his own, rather average cock, Ancap slid into the writhing man beneath him. God, he was tight. It must be a rare treat, for Commie’s partner to have him submissive like this.

Without waiting for him to adjust, Ancap began thrusting at an increasing pace, making the tied up Commie moan in pure pleasure. Ancap joined in with him, the sounds of their shameless voices and flesh hitting flesh filling the room. How fortunate, that they were alone at home.

Libright came with an unintelligible shout, something concerning free markets and free enterprise. Commie followed soon after, shooting hot, sticky cum across his own chest.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Ancap pulled out, and set about dressing himself again. His mind was blank from the exhilaration, of finding out how repressed the Communist really is.

‘’Untie me, Kulak,’’ the very man demanded.

The Randian ignored him and went about his business. Finally, he checked his tie in the mirror. He looked perfect as always, not a hair out of place. Flashing Commie a winning grin, Libright left, looking over his shoulder at the door only to say, ‘’You better get cleaned up before someone finds you like this.’’

‘’Ancap!’’ Commie yelled after him. It was of course useless, and grumbling, he set about using his KGB skills to escape from the entrapment. Ancom wasn’t due home for an hour at least, having stormed out after their fight. Authleft would break free, take a cold shower, and noone would be the wiser. Well, except for the Capitalist, but if Kulak talked about what’d happened, he’d soon have a less toothy grin.


	6. Nazi fucks Conservative through Christianity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noone asked and noone denied me, so I have taken my liberty of free speech to once again deliver proof that democracy is doomed to fail.

Nazi arrived at Conservative's house. He couldn't see much in the dark, but it still looked like the two story American dream. Glancing around the street to make sure noone had seen him, he walked through the manicured lawn and entered without knocking. Owning capable firearms as he did, Conservative rarely bothered locking them. 

The house was dark except for a distinct sheen from upstairs. Nazi walked up the stairs, wincing as they creaked. Noone could hear it, but this sound of his shame manifest was excrutiating.

He knocked on the bedroom door and Conservative promptly opened. He only had a tshirt and boxers on, and Nazi felt overdressed in his uniform.

Conservative stepped aside, and Nazi walked in, immeadetelt being greeted by the sight of crucifixes and portraits of Jordan Peterson. The crucifixes were of all christian faiths, and littered the walls to the point that Nazi had to surpress his gag reflex. Appearently Conservative didn't distinguish between catholic and orthodox, as long as it was christian. They were only matched by the countless portraits, and each picture looked as if Peterson was staring at you, no matter where you were in the room.

Nazi undressed hurriedly, and Conservative climbed back into his bed, fidgeting, undecided on wether he should say somerhing. He liked the silence, but it made him nervous. When Nazi was naked, he tossed aside the last remnants of his dignity too. 

They met like this every once in a while, to rid themselves of sinful energy. There was no particular reason why they had chosen each other for this, they didn't even like each other much. But they both could be assured of mutual silence.

Nazi joined him on the bed. He smelled of whiskey, as he usually did on these nights. Conservative had had a hew beers as well, and they both took comfort in that last excuse of drunken mistakes.

Nazi grabbed Conservative by the back of his head and pulled him in for a harsh kiss. Conservative let him have complete dominance, and only moaned softly, when Nazi bit his lips hard enough to make them bleed. They both enjoyed the taste of fresh blood.

By the time Nazi broke the kiss, they were both already erect. Meeting only once a month, they had looked forward to this. Nazi grabbed the lube on the bedside table, trying not to look at the Peterson portrait next to it. He oiled himself up, then slid two slick fingers in Conservative, who had his ass already raised in the air, like an animal. Conservative continued moaning quietly, and Nazi stayed silent. When Conservative was loose enough, he impaled him, sliding in slowly, enjoying every inch he took up.

Nazi began to fuck him in earnest and Conservative's moans became loud and needy. Who'd expect such sounds from the bedroom window of that red brick house? But then Nazi pulled out suddenly and only Conservative's loud panting could be heard, as he flipped around and looked up in confusion at those steely blue eyes.

"Renounce christianity," Nazi simply stated.

Conservative could have laughed, "What? Now?" When Nazi didn't answer, Conservative fell back into the bed, staring at the ceiling. He was not in his right mind, head swimming with lust and pure, base need, "How?"

Nazi gave a little smile at that, the first one he had shown since he arrived. He went to his trousers, thrown on the chair by a writing desk, and retrieved something packaged in a small plastic bag. He climbed back in and dangled it above Conservative's eyes patiently, waiting for him to figure it out.

It was difficult for Conservative to make out the little object, his gaze swimming with stars. When he did however, he was even more perplexed. "The Host? What so you want me to do with a consecrated piece of bread?"

Nazi's smile grew wider at that, and it lacked any humour or goodwill. "It's simple, really. I will put it in your asshole and impale you, and you're going to let me. You're going to prove to me that you've renounced this Abrahamic disease."

Conservative couldn't grasp the logic of it. Nazi couldn't have been serious. Nazi didn't actually expect him to renounce anything for one fuck. And Nazi was being a total hypocrite, bashing Christianity as morally corrupting when they were meeting like this. Nazi's smile statted to fade as his impatience grew, and that made up Conservative's mind for him. His wanton need had clouded his mind, and he obediently took up his previous position.

Conservative could barely feel the thin wafer being inserted in him. Nazi impaled him again, with relish, and this time they both let loose to all sounds Nature prompted them to make.

They finished in unison and silence fell again. Nazi left not a quarter of an hour later. Conservative remained sitting in his bed, motionless, looking up into Dr. J. Peterson's eyes and trying to process what had happened.

((Six is the Devil's number, but I surpassed it and have written a seventh part to this orgy of degeneracy. Inspired by Marquis de Sade. If you enjoyed, please comment, I need to know just how much you enjoyed this.))


	7. Ancap/Hoppean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Witty banter and capitalist affection between my two beloved favorites of the Centricide series

‘’But green is the only colour that matters!” Ancap exclaimed, failing to understand completely Hoppean’s point.

The former was sprawled out on a luxurious leather couch, looking at the latter, hunched in the leather chair opposite him. Hoppean sighed and rubbed his eyes, glancing at the sparkling windows behind the couch. It was getting late, and barely any sunlight was squeezing past the thick smog of the city. They had been going back and forth like this for a while, arguing on the prospects of exclusionary covenants.

‘’Haven’t you noticed that our race, on average, achieves better results than the lesser races?’’ Hoppean questioned, looking at Ancap in faint hope that for once, he would understand, ‘’Haven’t you considered, that we should promote the homogeneity of the supreme race, for increased profit?’’

Ancap frowned, resting his head on one hand, mentally rolling back and forth the clip of how they both knew this conversation would pan out, ‘’What supreme race? Have you been reading again those long disproven eugenics books Nazi hoards?’’ he smirked when he saw Hoppean hunch inwardly even further, instinctively defensive, ‘’Look at us, with our dark eyes and darker hair. How long before some swedish fop claims supremacy over us? Would you let one of those aryan socialists expel you from your own ‘’covenant’’?’’

‘’I’m not talking about being so specific with phenotypes. We need to promote the culture that we share in the West. We alone understand the true meaning of Libertarianism,’’ Hoppean pleaded. These days, only Ancap would hear him out. Sometimes he’d discuss theories on race and iq with Nazi, but lately Authright was too often too busy with that red statist fuck.

Ancap grinned , ‘’Would that include your dearest latin american dictator?’’ he took the moment of silence that followed to straighten out his already perfect suit, freshly pressed by an underpaid mexican maid. 

‘’He was of french descent,’’ Hoppean said quickly, but his voice was unsure. He could never say this with full conviction, for who could know, with Pinochet’s family having been in Chile for three centuries, if they had or hadn’t intermixed with the natives? He pulled at his already loose shirtsleeves in agitation, trying hopelessly to reconcile all these eugenics considerations.

Another moment of silence followed, one that was not on the script. If they were to follow the directory of the past, Ancap would now have amiably stated that Hoppean is free to manage his own business dealings as he sees fit. Hoppean would then play at being hurt for once again having been dismissed, Ancap would sweeten the deal with a glass of good whiskey, and they’d part ways. 

Instead of that, Ancap took a moment to consider how the circles under Hoppean’s eyes had grown darker, how he was fidgeting more than usual. More often than not these days, Hoppean would mutter strange musings on the compatibility of race and economics theories under his breath. Minarchist would keep a wise distance from him, and Libertarian was unnerved by his frequent mentions of helicopters and physical removal. 

Yet, perhaps against his better judgement, Ancap felt a strange sort of sympathy towards Hoppean. He knew what it was like to be dismissed as a lunatic, to desperately crave any sort of attention or validation. Before Ancapistan, before Ancap’s dream of paradise had been realized, he often felt the same in the extremists house. The leftists would keep their own counsel, Ancap could never compete for Ancom’s attention with that damned Communist. And Nazi was too proud and mentally fucked up to show any affection without sick power plays. Would Ancap be a hypocrite to blame him, though? They both toyed with morality and human feelings as if it was all a delicious treat to satisfy their own apetites and worldviews.

Slowly, gracefully, Ancap got up and readjusted his sunglasses. He was the only one who could wear them indoors without looking ridiculous. More ridiculous than usually, in his shiny golden suit, at least. He floated over to the armchair Hoppean was currently occupying, the latter was too lost in thought to notice. Ancap leaned down and gently took his hand to get his attention. Hoppean flinched, but let him, and glanced at Ancap in confusion. Displays of gentleness were neither’s strong suite nor typical behavior.  
‘’Hoppean, we agree on the baseline,’’ Ancap began softly, ‘’We prioritise our own profit and our own gain. We believe in private property. If your companies with your people do better than mine, well, you’ll have won me over. But so far I’m making a larger profit margin,’’ Ancap chuckled despite himself, and Hoppean scoffed, trying to pretend that he wasn’t trembling at the most affection and attention he had received in months. 

‘’Just for once, get a decent night’s sleep instead of pouring over those dusty german writings, will you? We are in the ascendant, Hoppean. The statists are weak, the centrists are dead, and the Wackies have never been a threat. And that Nazbol kids is a fool, we can play him for our own gain. We will exploit them all for profit,’’ Ancap had spoken this whole monologue with the kind of relish that showed he was clearly enjoying his own voice. And Hoppean too was taking comfort in that voice and beginning to calm down, committing to memory each of the honeyed words that promised him more profit than ever.


	8. Nazi/Homonationalist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I felt my emo acne breaking out, so I had to write this. A bit of obsessive pining from our favourite degenerate.

Homonationalism checked his pockets to make sure everything was there. Keys, wallet, phone, binoculars… Everything seemed to be in its place. He did some final stretches before setting off for the extremists’ house. He didn’t even have to pay any mind to where he was heading, his legs carried him effortlessly to that tree by Nazi’s bedroom window. Oh, Nazi. One day he’ll see that gays aren’t degenerate, but until then, Homonatonalist was grateful for that oak tree, conveniently placed right next to his crush’s window. 

By the time Homonationalist arrived it was already getting dark. He traced his way through the yard, taking care not to be seen from the windows. Back before the extremists had broken up, this had been much more difficult, what with Ancap’s cameras and alarms. The auths however, seemed confident enough to have done away with all that. Nazi was so strong and smart that he didn’t need that stuff anyways.

Homonationalist grabbed the lowest branch and swung himself upwards, climbing up to second story level. It was a warm summer night and the tree was leafy enough to hide him well. He settled in a comfortable nook and set his eyes on that wonderful room that someday soon he’d be invited to. It was perfectly neat and orderly; Nazi liked his things clean and organised. However, he didn’t seem to have headed to bed yet, despite normally keeping a tight schedule. Strange. 

The bdsm supremacist felt something lurch within him. It felt sick and filled him with doubt. Surely, surely there was a good explanation for this, and he was just being paranoid. Trying to steady his breathing, Homonationalist climbed back down, and sneaked around the house to the living room window. This was very risky, he could be seen easily if someone looked, but he had to know. 

Nazi was probably just up late planning his next attack on the centrists. Yes, that was it. He was a mighty strategist and busied himself with battle maps and thoughts of war and… Homonationalist felt bile rising within him, his own thoughts, meant to be calming, only filled him with doubt.

He had seen before, how the auths’ interactions were beginning to get more heated. With no one else in the house, they let out all their emotions on each other. Oftentimes that would lead to fights, and sometimes they’d part from those fights with a strange look in their eyes. But Nazi wasn’t a degenerate. He was pure and mighty, and hated that communist.

Homonationalist’s breath hitched when he saw what was happening in the living room. There, on the couch, they were… Homonationalist’s vision blurred, and he had to remind himself to breath, to stay quiet, to not give himself away. They could see him any moment, if they’d only just looked, but they were too busy. Too preoccupied with being hypocrites.

He felt helpless. The longer he looked, the more impossible the thought of looking away became. Had his love lied to him, when he said he didn’t like men? No, of course not, Nazi would never. That could never happen. He had just been… Homonationalist wanted to say shy, but that sounded impossible even to his own ears. So what was he seeing?

They suddenly froze, and Homonationalist lurched away in panic. Letting Nazi see him and letting him know just how pathetic he was would be the worst thing of all. He headed home, thoughts of despair, anger, and confusion fighting for his attention.  
He had to be practical. He had to assess his options. He finally had proof that their love isn’t impossible, didn’t he? That was a good thing. The fact that he couldn’t help himself from breaking into tears was irrelevant. He just had to keep trying, he still had hope for this to work. Because it not working, Nazi not loving him eventually… That wasn’t an option.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What else are you supposed to do but write bad fanfic when you're bored and drunk?


	9. Drunken arguments (Ancap/Commie)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations on my tenth questionable oneshot
> 
> Just some platonic arguing powered by vodka and bourbon

If this were the good old days, they might have settled their disputes in a battle royal duel. As it was the modern day, and as ancap did not want to get blood all over his property, they had opted for a drinking contest instead.

There they were, all slumped in a dimly lighted living room. If this contest had had a valid reason, noone was sober enough to remember. In truth, they just needed a more elegant way than dick measuring to measure their manhoods.

Anarkiddie was completely lost to this reality, cudled up on the plush carpet, mouth half open and snoring loudly. Some drool was trickling on the rather expensive carpet, but his anarchist brother was way too wasted to care. The protector of the Free Markets was currently somehow holding onto some semblance of conciousness, room spinning and lights dipping, but he was damned if he was gonna loose to that fucking russian.

Commie was no better off than Ancap, but hid it much better. Those slavic genes sometimes came in real handy. He didn't quite recall why he was torturing himself thus, downing the fourth vodka bottle tonight, but loosing to the kulak was not an option.

Nazi made a soft grunting noise, leg twitching in sleep like a dog's. Probably happily hunting some jews in his dreams whilst sprawled on the carpet, the signature cap pulled over his eyes.

Commie and Ancap stared at eachother in silence, lights spinning and room blurring, but neither willing to cede to the other.

"You know... you know commie," Ancap blurted, trying to draw himself up a little straighter, "You're a fucking hypocrite."

Commie instinctively scoffed at this, as he did to everything that Ancap said. "You're... you're really claiming that... you of all people," he stammered, trying to concentrate on the stability of the table in front of him. The table hosting delicious vodka. Another sip sounded like just the thing.

As Commie took a swig, Ancap matched him with good old american Bourbon and continued, "You claim you want to help people? Please... please just... admit you got a fucking power fetish and don't care...because you fuck everything...eventually... fuck everything up."

Commie gestured vaguely, indicating nothing in particular, but making sure his hand gestures looked threatening, "Like you wouldn't? You'd screw over everyone for yourself."

Ancap was drunkenly perplexed, "Well yeah, each for his own. That's honest."

Commie barked a short laughter, soon falling silent, "That's a demon's honesty. I at least strive, I strive to be..." he searched for the word but had lost it, "you just fuck up and are not even ashamed."

Ancap took another swig, woefully noticing that the bottle was getting unpleasantly empty. He glanced at Anarkiddie, lost to the world in deep, pleasant sleep, "you're just a liar. You drive in people like him," he gestured with his bottle, "and then exploit them."

Commie scoffed, yet again, but instead of answering simply took another swig. Silence fell over them. It was an indistinguishable dark hour aside, 1am, possibly 4 am. The night held no time of its own.

"Do you feel fucking superior with exploiting them "honestly"?" Commie shot back, more emotionally than he had intended. Whenever anyone aluded to those lies that he was just using Anarkiddie to further his own goals... it angered him.

"Freedom's all we got," Ancap declared, "but you probably don't care for that, no no no. Why would the weak need, what would they need, but for your "protection"."

"Freedom for what? For these two to go at each other..rip each other's throats?" Commie started laughing, picturing the image of Anarkiddie and Nazi catfighting like children like they usually did, but to the death.

Anacap couldn't help himself and joined in, quickly forgetting their argument in their slow, drunken laughter. What did it matter, really? They both knew they were right, by the power of cheap imported alcohol, they were damn right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this entertaining? I'm too drunk to tell


	10. Ancap/Commie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something a bit different from my usual, shorter and comparable to Ancap/Hoppean.

Ancap lounged on the drawing room sofa, trying to read the Fountainhead. The sun was dipping into the horizon and he had barely managed 50 pages all day. But his husband loved this book, and so he was torturing himself on this fine day.

He couldn't figure out what exactly he didn't like about the book. The characters were dry and quite two dimensional, the passages were long and got to the point meanderingly, if ever. But that was the obvious. There was something else about the book that made reading it unpleasant instead of merely boring.

Ancap could have handled a boring book, it would have been no worse than trying to read the Economist. But this was something else. Unconciously, his fingers were reaching for his iphone, unlocking the three passcodes and entering a number he dreaded more than the book.

"Hey Commie," he greeted in his usual fake cheerfulness, so smooth it made you uncomfortable to question it.

There was silence and then a low growl of impatience from the other end, "What do you want, kulak?"

"Oh I know we haven't talked in a long while, a few months, I think? Ever since I made that helicopter joke after you said that if I repeated it for the upteenth time you'd not talk to me anymore?" Ancap laughed weakly. He had meant to sound self degrading in a humurous fashion, but he had just sounded defensive.

The Red scoffed, "You're avoiding something, aren't you? Best get to it kulak. Time is money and all that nonsense, da?"

"What? Why would I avoid doing something? I only do what I like. I like talking to you Commie, you know that. I always have, I've always followed your activities and-" Ancap stopped, his lies were so flagrant that they offended not the truth but himself.

Communist hung up. Ancap was left with recollections of hazy, tired evenings, the memories clear in their repetitivness. Stumbling into Commie's room after a long days work when he didn't feel like thinking about the stock markets anymore. Stumbling into Commie's room when he didn't want to think about the Centricide anymore. Stumbling away from thoughts about his future and legacy.

He put the phone back on the glass tabletop. The book felt lighter in his lap, somehow. The emberrassment of those memories had made it easier to read something that was closer to him, something that required less thinking, less pretending and less effort.


	11. Freebie (put your suggestions in comments)

Hey, i'm having a good week, so I want to do a fanfic "giveaway". The first three suggestions in comments will win (you can be as specific or vague as you want, describe your dream scenario to me so I can ruin it).

The spots are filled! I don't know what order I'll write them in, but it will be done before the end of the week


	12. Minarchist/Hoppean (office, angst, pg)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A request for Hoppean//Minarchist pre-dating scene was made.
> 
> I didn't promise I'd make it easy for them

_Why does the damn paper keep getting stuck?_

__

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Hoppean stared silently at the printing machine. It was 9:10, and his brain had barely begun to power up. He was mostly zoned out by this point, in that odd defeated trance that makes you immobile, just praying for some divine revelation that would hep you fix the problem.

The objective was to print a few sticky labels for the office shipments. The very fact that he had been forced to work at an office of a cosmetics label, coordinating little packets of samples that his cheapskate colleagues kept sending to all the fashion journalists they knew, hoping to get free advertisements, was humiliating. The fact that he couldn’t get the machine to even work…

_Not enough paper it says. I put the paper in, I say. Not enough paper, it says._

__

__

He glanced at the sticky paper in the tray. A nice, brilliant white. He sighed and pressed ‘’print’’ again, trying to resign himself to the shameful road of asking for help.

_It’s been a week. How can I not have figured it out by now?_

__

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When the printer showed the same old message, he spun on his heel and was ready to march out of there when he caught one of his colleagues standing by a nearby glass door, looking at him. It might have been the marketing guy, one of them anyways, Hoppean hadn’t really bothered to learn the names yet. What caught his attention was that the man was looking at him.

_Standing there, grinning sheepishly, almost pityingly, you really want to mock me, don’t you? But you’re too polite, you nasty piece of-_

__

__

‘’Good morning! I was just walking by, when, well- anyways, I noticed that you had put the sticker paper in the top tray, and I was just thinking, well, it usually works better in the bottom tray,’’ Minarchist trailed off.

_Why is he so nervous? I intimidate him, don’t I. Everyone’s always scared of me, it’s annoying._

__

__

Hoppean spun around again, shoved the paper in the right tray, and hit print. Some instinct made him grumble something that could be interpreted as a thankful sound, and he expected the short encounter to end right there.

Minarchist shuffled a bit, growing more nervous, but managed to get up the courage to fumble out ‘’You need to put it upside down. And uh, you should put the four stickers in one file so that all four corners are used, not just one, see? Not that I care about preserving nature or believe in those global warming conspiracy theories, but the boss keeps a real close eye on all expenses. I think it’s his favourite pastime,’’ he laughed weakly.

Hoppean felt himself seething as the printer churned out the wrongly printed stickers.

_What is that guy even doing here, offering his help to some underslept fuck up of a colleague? He’s going to ask for favours later, no doubt ‘’Hoppean, can you help me with this? Hoppean, can you help me with that?" All just a bunch of two faced-_

__

__

At this point Minarchist was growing concerned, as Hoppean hadn’t moved and inch, not even to change the paper again. He had noticed that his hot-in-that-spooky-way colleague did NOT like it here, and that he wasn’t very social, and looked like he could murder someone and easily hide the body and probably had done that just last weekend, and all of that just made his dumb ass more interested.

Minarchist had planned out a real smooth way to ask the guy out. He’d seen Hoppean stuck on the printer, and quickly wrote up a little message on Word. He’d then come out and casually say ‘’oh, can you please print the file I just sent?’’ and Hoppean would read it and it would be cool like in the movies, but right now making another remark about the printer seemed more dangerous than asking Ancap for a raise.

‘’Have a good one!’’ Minarchist exclaimed way too cheerfully and practically flew back to the safety of his office.

Hoppean stared at the printer again, cursing it for exercising its generosity at such a cost. Slowly, with a ceremonial touch, he put everything right and hit print. The labels came out fine, but then another message popped up on the screen.

‘’Print request from minarchist@lookgood.com’’

_Some other idiot can deal with that._


	13. Ancap/Commie (pg-13)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Could I get more angst with my coffee please?

_December 26, 1991_

__

Ancap could scream for joy, her long awaited Christmas present was here. The Supreme Soviet had voted the USSR itself out of existence. Communism was done for, fascism was mere cobwebs and dust by now, and the summer of love only reared its head in the occasional HIV test. She alone reigned supreme.

Oh sure, there wasn’t pure capitalism anywhere. In fact, many countries had a sickening shade of socialist pink. But they all liked capitalism, they relied on it, it had helped them ascend unbelievable heights. And she, Ancap, was here to see it, fully victorious at last.

The winning girl could be found in her luxurious bedroom, all mirrors, polished oak panels and leather. She was dancing to her favourite pop playlist in nothing but a golden silk bathrobe, spinning around in time to the beat and narrowly missing the furniture.  
Just as Pink Floyd’s Money came on, the vibe was interrupted by a loud banging on the front door, loud enough to carry easily to the third story bedroom. 

_Now who could that be? Really, it’s a complete mystery as to who could be so angry in this holiday season._

__

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Ancap chuckled to herself and glided downstairs. She unbolted the door and narrowly opened it. Immediately a hand shot through, trying to open it farther, but the chain held it firmly in place.

‘’You fucking snake! Open this goddamn door so we can talk economic theory!’’ Commie roared on the other side.

‘You know that I love nothing better than chatting you up, Commie,’’ Ancap cooed, as if talking to a child throwing a fit, ‘’But you must take a hold of yourself.’’

Commie threw a last impressive hit at the heavy door, which still did not yield, and went silent. After counting to 10, Ancap opened it to reveal a tall, red clad- well, it would have been wrong to call it a woman. The thing looked more like all the anti-drug public service announcements rolled into one. Her hair was so dishevelled it was past the point of combing, her clothes were more stains than fabric, her back was hunched as if supporting some invisible, burdensome weight, even though all she was holding was a litre of vodka. You know, the kind that makes you think ‘’I might have just as well diluted grain spirit with water.’’ 

Red whistled at the sight of the interior, ‘’How much slave labour did this take? Oh, sorry, I meant how many fair wages determined by the market?’’

‘’At least they could buy something with that wage, at a store right around the corner. Unlike, you know, standing in a line for bread for 3 hours, only to leave empty handed,’’ Ancap shrugged, ‘’Anyways, might I offer you a drink? Perhaps some cognac whilst you rant against American pigs?’’

Ancap spun around and led the way to the drawing room, Commie trailing behind her, ‘’Will you stop it about the damn bread lines? Do you ever come up with new material?’’

She slumped in one of the armchairs and Ancap handed her a cut glass goblet. Commie scoffed but took it, and scoffed even more when Ancap plopped down on the couch, satisfied like a cat who ate the canary.

‘’Another day, that might have hurt my feelings Commie, it really might, but today is just too good to let the likes of your ruin it,’’ Ancap sighed contently, ‘’At least you went down with some grace in the end, after sending tanks to every teeny weeny nation that left you.’’

‘’You want to talk about sending in tanks? Because last I checked, it’s the speciality of capitalist exploiters to send in armed forces where they’re not wanted, to establish ‘’democracy’’,’’ Red swigged the amber liquid in one, let the glass drop to the floor where it shattered beautifully, and swiped the bottle. Ancap didn’t even blink.

‘Don’t get upset Commie. You still have some backwaters- I meant to say underdeveloped nations, to cling to. China, Cuba… The list simply goes on,’’ Ancap couldn’t help laughing in that smug way of hers.

When Commie didn’t answer, she looked over to see the woman gripped by flashbacks, staring into the distance. She was often like that these days, reliving the moments of glorious revolutions and lashing herself for not doing better. Ancap let her be and simply sipped her drink, enjoying the moment.

_Perhaps I should get the fire started. Why, it’s almost as chilly here as at a gulag in Siberia._

__

__

Ancap was on the point of getting up when Commie addressed her, ‘’Why do you live alone in this huge house, Ancap? What’s the point?’’

‘’I’m hardly alone, there’s the maids and the cook. And why ever the hell not, Commie? It beats being squished in one of your community apartments, doesn’t it?’’

Red stared at her in silence for a while, then gently put the bottle on the floor and got up to leave.

‘’We’re not going to play cat and mouse now, are we? Come, lets ‘’work out our differences’’ in silk sheets like we usually do,’’ Ancap purred.

‘’That was my first plan. But right now I’d rather cry in a graveyard, Ancap. I’d be surrounded by warmer people.’’

And like that, Commie was gone before Ancap could think of how to respond. 

_What the hell was that? She always has to be so dramatic. But she’ll come back, they all do. If only they could do away with their silly ideas of altruism and other ideals._

__

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The silence in the empty house was deafening.


	14. Truth or Dare!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some tomfoolery amidst Ancap/Nazi and Commie/Ancom.
> 
> And with that my freebies are done! It was very fun writing suggestions, so please don't hesitate in the future to leave them in the comments!

"This is stupid," Nazi grumbled.

The extremists were assembled in the living room, Ancom and Commie snuggling on the couch and Ancap and Nazi sitting on their respective armchairs, 5 feet apart.

It had been a slow, boring day, and as the sun was setting they found themselves bored out of their minds. There didn't seem to be anything that needed doing and nothing interesting to do.

"I'm guessing you'd rather be in a packed, sweaty beer hall full of aryan men," Commie raised an eyebrow. 

This sent Ancom into a fit of giggles. Quem was still holding the beer quem had just drank, "to mellow out the weed", whatever that meant. The bottle seemed their only option of fun at the moment.

"Ancom's right," Ancap commented, "You have nothing better to do right now than spin an empty bottle like kids and play truth or dare."

"You'd know about kids," Nazi grumbled again, "Why are you here again?"

"I'm keeping you company, of course! Miserable allies are unprofitable allies."

"Right, that's enough capitalist talk for one day," Commie took the bottle and placed it on the carpeted floor, "Let's just get this over with."

He sent it into a spin and it landed on Ancom, who gave a happy nod.

"The people's truth," Ancom winked.

Commie rolled his eyes, but gave a small smile, "What to ask, what to ask... Where is the anarchist hideout, comrade?"

" 'kay I think we need to lay some ground rules here," Ancom sighed, "This game is not to be used as some KGB or Gestapo tactic to weedle out information."

"I have better tactics," Nazi murmured.

"Harašo. Did you actually read Das Kapital, like you told me last week?"

"Hey! This is against the rules," Ancom protested.

"No no, this is getting spicy," Ancap leaned in, "Of couse, we all already know that you don't read much economic theory, or theory, or do much reading."

Ancom huffed and spun the bottle. It landed on the yellow man himself.

"Truth," Ancap grinned.

"How much Rothbard have you actually read?" Ancom demanded, staring at him.

Ancap's grin faded, which made Commie laugh. Nazi just rolled his eyes.

"Dare," Ancap countered.

Ancom leaned back victoriously and thought for a moment, "You've already answered what I wanted to know, so, I dunno..."

"Say something more racist than Nazi," Commie chimed in.

Ancap pondered for a moment, meantally searching for the best 4chan hottake he'd read, "Jews hired Hitler to get reperations from Germany. Two jewish general managers of Berlin banks, one of them the leader of Zionism in Germany, financed him before he came to power. Only a few hundred were killed and then the jews brought about Hitler's downfall, inflated the numbers, and got even richer."

Nazi gaped at him, momentarily stunned. Commie banged his fist on the coffee table with a decisive, "Always knew you were a racist." Ancom shook his head.

"Well then," Ancap set the bottle spinning triumphantly, and it landed on Nazi, "Truth or dare, mein Führer?"

Nazi shifted uncomfortably, growing a shade red. He knew that the dirty snake was just teasing him to humiliate him in front of the others, but damn if it wasn't effective.

"I'm not about to do heart to heart with you, so dare," Nazi huffed.

"We need to up the stakes here to make it interesting. Since you claim to be the bravest man here," Ancap began sarcastically, "And Commie here claims to be the best shot amongst the drunkards called the Red Army - why don't we play that "shoot an apple off someones head whilst they're blindfolded" game?"

"That seems oddly specific," Nazi frowned.

"Da, for once the kulak has a good idea," Commie leaped up and drew his MP-443, "Or are you gonna back off like in Staliningrad?"

Ancom cheered at this and Nazi finally got up. Ancap slipped away to find a nice tight blindfold and an apple. 

"If you miss, your little friend here will meet a grizzly end," Nazi coldly stated.

"Then I'll make sure not to miss," Commie deadpan stared at him.

Ancap returned and smoothly blindfolded the fascist. He took off the pristine military cap so as not to ruin it (which would probably make Nazi more mad than if he got shot) and placed the green apple right atop his head.

Commie chuckled at the sight, momentarily enjoying the thought of killing his old enemy right there and then. Before he could take aim, however, Ancap motioned for him to be quiet and indicated that he'd like in fact to have Commie's gun. Commie shook his head at this but Ancom, curious to see where this was going, motioned for him to comply.

"What are you all conspiring about?!" Nazi demanded.

Commie finally gave Ancap the gun and he grinned. This was going to be fun. With barely a glance Ancap loosed a bullet not far from the right side of Authright's head.

Seeing Nazi jump in fright, Commie couldn't help but chuckle, "Izviņaju, looks like I missed."

"You fucking communist! Can we end-"

Ancap loosened another bullet very near the man's left ear. He was grinning from ear to ear.

Nazi yelped and Commie guffawed, "Guess my aim's a bit rusted."

Nazi was about to take off the blindfold when Ancap scolded him, "Nu-uh, we don't want Commie to hit your pretty white arms."

He was about to tell them all in german exactly what he though of them, when Ancap hit the apple dead in the center. With that same smooth move he handed the gun back to Commie and they exchanged places, so that Nazi could suspect nothing.

Ancom was a bit too stoned to follow along attentively from the couch, but quem did notice very clearly that Ancap was having the time of his life, Commie was 100% in and did not even mind helping the kulak, and Nazi, now able to see again and cursing them both, looked more flushed and flustered than angry. Boy he was a weirdo, and this was quem saying this!

They returned to their seats and Nazi sent the bottle in a wild spin, so that it landed only after a tense while, pointing at Red.

"The bottle supports equality," Ancom giggled.

"Dare," Commie challenged Nazi.

Authright smiled at this and leaned back like a fat, satisfied landlord after a day of stealing worker's money, "Torch the McDonalds over the street."

Ancap sat up in alarm, whilst Ancom was barely holding back hysteric laughter. These two really got off hurting each other.

"You can't do that, it breaks the NAP!" Ancap waved his hands for emphasis.

"Oh, and that thing you dared me to do didn't?"

Ancom languidly got up and stretched like a cat, "Ending an evening burning a capitalist establishment is my favourite. Come, Commie."

Communist grinned and joined quem for a romantic evening, "We better leave these two to work out their differences alone."

Nazi was about to protest, but they were already gone. 

"I was the one who shot at you," Ancap admitted, trying to get back at Authright for his cruel attack on the temple of burgers.

"I know," Nazi grumbled.

Ancap glanced at him, horny as hell. Authright was fidgeting in his seat, clearly hard as well and clearly too scaredy cat to make the first move.

"And I gave your cap to Ancom," Ancap grinned at him. This wasn't strictly true as he had actually just put in in a drawer, but it got the effect all the same.

"You fucking jew," Nazi growled.

In the blink of an eye he was up and choking Ancap, who really didn't mind the NAP being violated this time. 

-

"You don't think they'll kill each other, do you?" Ancom asked, the roaring flames of the wreck that the McDonald's now was reflected on quem's face.

"I sure fucking hope they do," Commie sighed.


	15. People never change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little drabble for rightist unity, my first and favourite ship.  
> It's a shame that summer has ended. I can already feel my white body filling with winter depression. At least I'll be coming to Germany this October, so that will be some fun. See Wewelsburg and all.

National Socialist stared at the whiteboard in his room, which displayed his family tree in minute detail up untill the early 18th century. It looked normal enough, but if anyone else saw this, it would be damning. A half-jew grandgrandfather, a full jewish cousin once removed. He glanced at the full length mirror on his right side, to remind himself that he was a perfect aryan specimen. White skin, steely blue eyes, pale blond hair. There was nothing dirty in his blood. Even if he was only the third tallest of them. And commie was more muscular. And ancap a better shot.

Nazi sighed and tried to concentrate on the tasks before him. Plan their next attack on the centrists, done. Clean his gun, done. Read Evola, done. He should go to sleep now, probably, and wake up at the crack of dawn, like a good soldier. Problem was that it was only 9pm and he was far from sleepy.

"I'll do a tour of the premises, make sure that those degenerates aren't up to anything," he scowled to himself, getting up and readjusting his uniform. It wasn't that he wore it all the time around the house, it just felt nice and reassuring to have it on sometimes. And he did look dashing in all black.

His room was the nearest to the living room, which appeared to be empty just now. No lights in the kitchen either, so he turned to walk down the hallway. There were voices coming from Commies room, so he gently pressed his ear to listen.

"Ancom. Wake up. Ancom! I told you that the weed is bad for your brain, da? Wake up and continue, you need 30 more pages to fill your quota for the day!" Communist commanded.

Ancom groaned and after a bit of shuffling, appeared to have found the passage he left off on, "Political economy came into being as a natural result of the expansion of trade, and with its appearance elementary, unscientific huck-hu-," Ancom drowsed off again and loud snoring could be heard.

Commie pounded the table, "Pay attention!" This seemed to have no effect.

Nazi shook his head. What a pathetic bunch of socialists. Surely ancap was up to something more worthwhile. Like earning money. He approached the door with the "do not enter" sign with an image of an ar-15 in front of it and leaned in to listen.

"Aiyaaa! Big brother, you shouldn't- ,"Nazi inhaled sharply and knocked loudly. The sound immeadetely stopped, and after a while a frustrated vocie called out, "What is it, Nazi?"

As he entered, it took him a moment to register the sight before him, despite the fact that he'd seen it a dozen times. There were neon lights softly glowing and changing color along the walls, stacks of money all around, some toppled to the floor, and an impatient looking Ancap in a dishevelled suit, sprawled on a black leather couch, holding a tv remote in his hand.

"How did you know it was me?" Nazi demanded.

Ancao rolled his eyes, "Who else does rounds around the house at night? Now, if you have nothing better to do than prance around in that leather coat, I'll be getting back to more important business.'

Nazi narrowed his eyes at this, but Ancap didn't even blink. After a moment of silence he began to gesture towards the door, "Can't you go play with your gun or something?"

Now, there is something to be said about people who court death. Who taunt a lion or dance near the edge of a cliff. You could say that they're bored, suicidal or horny. Possibly all three.

"No, no I don't think I'll be doing that," Nazi whispered, took three long strides to the couch and locked eyes with Ancap, "Not untill you apologise for your bad manners."

Ancap scoffed at this, hiding the fact that cold shivers were running downhis spine. Sometimes his fellow rightist got into such a mood that it was easier to simply comply. But he was not going down without a fight.

"You're the one who barged in, I should shoot you-" Nazi cut him off by grabbing him by the chin, sharply and painfully, and leaning closer.

Perhaps if he was in a more clear state of mind, he'd follow through on that threat, but right now, there were more pressing matters.

"You're such a hypocrite," Ancap licked his lips and leaned down to unbuckle the swastika adorned belt nazi always wore, "Such a fucking hypocrite."


	16. Suggest

If you want me to write more blasphemy, put your suggestions in the comments


End file.
